The Eye of the Serpent

by Philip Caveney

  Everybody at the table let out loud sighs of relief.

  ‘A real pity,’ said Archie wistfully. ‘Ah could have done something spectacular wi’ ’em. Well, eat hearty! There’s plenty more porridge in the pot if ye want it.’ He wandered back to the cook tent, whistling cheerfully.

  Coates pushed his bowl away and looked at Ethan, who was doing his level best to swallow down spoonfuls of the stuff.

  ‘It’s not so bad if you get it down quick,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Wade,’ said Coates, and Alec could see that there was a look of grim determination on his valet’s face. ‘We are going to have to talk about this.’

  Ethan glanced warily over his shoulder. ‘What’s the problem, Mr Goats . . . er . . . Coates?’

  ‘I’ll tell you the problem. That man cannot cook to save his life. It’s bad enough that we’re out here in this heat and sleeping in tents, but to endure it with nothing edible is going too far.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Doc Hopper. He pointed to the ring of Arabs seated around their communal campfire, cooking up something spicy in their pan. ‘I wonder what they’re having?’ he said hopefully. ‘It smells a lot more appetizing than this muck!’

  Ethan frowned and looked around the circle of faces. ‘I can’t help feeling you’re all being a little hard on Archie,’ he said.

  ‘Hard on him?’ said Coates. ‘Why not? He’s being merciless with us.’

  ‘I feel sorry for him,’ said Ethan. ‘You know, when I interviewed him, he told me that a lot of his closest friends were killed during the war . . .’

  ‘Probably from food poisoning,’ said Madeleine, and Alec had to stifle a laugh.

  ‘Yes,’ said Doc Hopper. ‘He probably took cookery lessons from Dr Crippen.’ When nobody laughed, he added, ‘You know, the famous poisoner?’

  Coates looked around the table. ‘Is anybody here happy with the standard of cuisine?’ he asked.

  Mickey started to put up his hand, but then changed his mind. ‘I was gonna say ’is rice puddin’ is just like Mother used to make,’ he said, ‘but to tell you the truth, she was a terrible cook too.’

  That did get a laugh.

  ‘And who would like to see an improvement?’ asked Coates.

  After a brief pause everyone except Ethan raised a hand.

  ‘There you are then,’ said Coates. ‘He’ll have to be told.’

  ‘Uh . . . yeah, OK,’ said Ethan quietly. Alec studied him in amazement. The man who had so fearlessly faced up to a pack of deadly hyenas was afraid of hurting Archie’s feelings.

  ‘If you feel awkward speaking to him, Mr Wade, I’m more than happy to oblige,’ offered Coates.

  Ethan shook his head. ‘Oh no. I’m director of this project, it’s down to me. I’ll get him on his own later.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘But listen, I sure wouldn’t feel too good about sacking him. I mean, where else would he go?’

  ‘You don’t have to sack him,’ said Coates. ‘Simply tell him that from now on I’ll be helping him on cooking duties. Which basically means I’ll be cooking and he’ll be my assistant.’ He glanced at Alec guiltily. ‘Of course, that means I shan’t be able to spend as much time with you, Master Alec.’

  ‘Oh, what a pity,’ said Alec dutifully, but deep down he was delighted at the news. The last thing he wanted was Coates following him everywhere he went.

  ‘Don’t worry about Alec, Monsieur Coates,’ said Madeleine. ‘I shall make sure that ’e comes to no ’arm.’ She reached over and tousled Alec’s hair affectionately and he felt his face reddening.

  ‘Well,’ announced Ethan, trying to sound more positive, ‘today we should get the last items out of the antechamber. Which means tomorrow we’ll be breaking through to the—’ He stopped at the sound of approaching hooves.

  Glancing up the valley, Alec saw an Arab guide leading a couple of donkeys down the hill towards the camp. Seated on the donkeys were two people that he had met outside King Tut’s tomb: the reporter, Biff Corcoran, and his photographer, Charlie Connors. They looked quite ridiculous perched on their little mounts. Biff’s boots skimmed the rocky ground by mere inches. Charlie was carrying her huge camera and looked as bored as she had last time Alec had met her.

  ‘Great,’ muttered Ethan. ‘Who would have figured they’d be up at this time of the morning? OK, folks, don’t forget, we’ve found nothing.’ He went to greet the visitors. ‘Biff! Charlie! So you made it up here after all!’

  ‘Yeah.’ Biff swung himself down off his donkey and rubbed his backside ruefully. ‘Damned uncomfortable way to do it, too,’ he growled. He watched as Charlie dismounted. ‘Couldn’t find anybody to drive us up here. It seems Mohammed Hansa is on permanent call chauffeuring that professor friend of yours around.’

  ‘Huh? Oh, you mean Professor Llewellyn? Yeah, well, there wasn’t much for him to do just yet, so he’s been getting in a little sightseeing.’ Ethan beckoned them over to the table. ‘Come and take the weight off,’ he suggested. ‘Have a cup of java with us.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Biff. He and Charlie slipped into a couple of empty seats. ‘I wouldn’t normally be seen dead at this time of the morning but something came to me in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Doc Hopper. ‘Mosquitoes, was it?’

  ‘Something better than that,’ said Biff. ‘An idea. A great idea.’

  ‘Hmm. I ’ad one of those once,’ said Mickey. ‘I wonder whatever ’appened to it.’ He winked at Alec, then filled a couple of enamel mugs with coffee, something that even Archie couldn’t manage to mess up. Biff took a silver hip flask from his pocket and added a generous measure of the contents to his mug.

  ‘Still got that head cold, I see,’ said Ethan.

  Biff nodded. ‘It’s a doozy,’ he said. ‘Just keeps hanging on in there. You gotta take relief where you can find it.’ He took a mouthful of coffee, smacked his lips and looked around at the assembled crew. ‘Hope I’m not keeping you people from anything important,’ he said.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Doc Hopper. ‘We were just discussing where we might try looking next.’

  Biff nodded. ‘Ethan,’ he said, ‘it’s come to my attention that you’ve been hiding something from me.’

  ‘Huh?’ Ethan nearly choked on his coffee. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Biff was now smiling at Madeleine. ‘I’m talking about this lovely lady here. It’s about time you got a looker on your team. The rest of ’em could scare crows for a living.’

  ‘Blimey, you say what you think, don’t ya?’ observed Mickey.

  ‘It’s my job,’ said Biff. He looked at Ethan expectantly. ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, er . . . sure. Biff, this is Madeleine . . . Dr Madeleine Duval. She’s come over from Paris to help us on the dig.’

  ‘A doctor, no less!’ Biff studied Madeleine with evident interest. ‘Boy, you Frenchies sure know how to make a subject more interesting, don’t ya? What’s your speciality, mademoiselle?’ He pronounced the word as it was spelled – mad-emoiselle.

  Madeleine stared back at him with evident distaste. ‘I am an expert in ’ieroglyphics,’ she said coldly; then flinched as Charlie snapped a picture of her. ‘Please don’t do that,’ she said. ‘I don’t like ’aving my picture taken.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Biff. ‘Honey, you could give Mary Pickford a run for her money.’

  ‘Mary ’oo?’

  ‘You know. The movie star. She’s about the most famous woman in Hollywood right now and she ain’t a patch on you, honey.’ He turned to look at Ethan. ‘So, you sure kept her quiet,’ he said.

  Ethan fixed him with a look. ‘Biff, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about Miss Duval like that.’ He said it quietly but the menace in his voice was evident.

  Biff assumed a look of complete innocence. ‘Aw, shucks, Wade, I don’t think she minds.’

  ‘Well, I do. Madeleine is a member of my team and I’d ask you to watch your mouth around her, ot
herwise I’m liable to forget that we’re friends.’

  Biff stared back at him for a moment. ‘Touchy,’ he said. ‘Very touchy.’ He took a sip of his coffee and studied Ethan thoughtfully. ‘So you needed a hieroglyphics expert, huh?’

  Ethan shrugged. ‘Well, not yet exactly, but we live in hope,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Hmm. So let me get this straight. Madeleine here came all the way from Gay Paree, just on the off-chance there might be a need for her expertise.’

  ‘In her own airplane,’ added Charlie, through a mouthful of gum.

  ‘Oh yeah, nearly forgot about that. Somebody over at the hotel mentioned it. See, call me suspicious, but I figure there has to be a little more to it than you’re letting on. You know what? I think you’ve found something, Ethan. Why don’t ya level with me?’

  Ethan adopted a hangdog look. He sighed. ‘I guess there’s no use trying to lie to you, Biff,’ he said. ‘Yeah, we found something.’

  Biff looked at Charlie. ‘What’d I tell ya?’ he said.

  ‘You said they’d found something,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Yeah, and I was right, see. That’s what they call reporter’s intuition.’ He turned back to Ethan. ‘Come on, spill the beans,’ he said.

  Ethan nodded. ‘Mickey, go and bring the finds tray for Mr Corcoran.’

  ‘OK, boss.’ Mickey got up from the table and headed towards his tent.

  ‘See, this all ties in with my big idea,’ said Biff excitedly. ‘You know I’ve been looking for the human interest angle? Well, it occurred to me last night that it was right there, staring me in the face.’ He pointed at Alec. ‘There he is,’ he said.

  ‘Alec?’ said Ethan.

  ‘Me?’ said Alec.

  ‘Yeah, you! Think of it. Intrepid young English boy vows to carry on his uncle’s work after poor Sir William gets dragged off to the funny farm. No offence, kid. Boy heads out to the wilds of Egypt all alone—’

  ‘Hardly alone,’ said Coates indignantly. ‘I am Master Alec’s valet. I accompany him everywhere.’

  ‘OK, point taken. He sets off for the wilds of Egypt with just his faithful flunky at his side.’

  ‘Flunky?’ Now Coates looked positively horrified. ‘That’s not a term I approve of.’

  ‘We’ll haggle over the words later,’ Biff told him. ‘Just listen a minute, will ya? Where was I?’

  ‘Boy goes to Egypt with flunky,’ said Charlie tonelessly, and she snapped a picture of Coates.

  ‘Oh yeah . . . Boy gets to Egypt, joins the expedition. And to top it all, after weeks of hard work he makes an exciting discovery.’

  ‘Hardly weeks,’ Alec corrected him. ‘I only got here yesterday.’

  ‘The timescale ain’t important! It’s the achievement that counts. Our readers are gonna love this story! Charlie, get some more pictures of our young hero. Get one with the flunky and one with Dr Cutie there.’

  Charlie obediently started taking more pictures, but the bored expression never left her face and her jaws kept chomping rhythmically at her gum. Madeleine meanwhile put her tongue out and made rude gestures at the camera.

  ‘Hey, knock it off, sister,’ said Charlie. ‘You any idea how much film costs?’

  ‘You knock eet off,’ snapped Madeleine. ‘I told you I don’t wish to be photographed. Please respect my wishes!’

  ‘Aw, suit yourself.’ Charlie directed her attention at Alec. ‘Look heroic, buster,’ she told him. He just glared back at her, but she took a picture anyway.

  Mickey came out of his tent carrying a small wooden tray, which he brought to the table, walking slowly as if it contained something precious. Meanwhile Biff went right on talking. ‘I can see it now,’ he said. ‘Feature article: THE TUTANKHAMUN KID. We’ll have a nice big picture of brave Alex—’

  ‘Alec!’

  ‘Whatever! We’ll have a big picture of him standing in front of . . . in front of—’ Biff broke off as Mickey placed the carefully prepared finds tray on the table in front of him. It contained a few shards of broken pottery, half a small statue and a mummified cat.

  Biff stared down at it in silence for a moment. ‘Please tell me this isn’t all you’ve found,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Not all,’ said Doc Hopper. ‘Just the best of it.’

  ‘The best?’

  Charlie raised her camera to snap a picture of the tray but Biff lifted a hand to stop her. ‘Don’t waste film,’ he told her. ‘There has to be more than this.’

  ‘We hope there will be,’ said Ethan. ‘But look – that piece of jar there. Eighteenth dynasty: there’s no mistaking that.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ said Biff. ‘That’s your big discovery. A broken vase.’

  ‘D’accord,’ said Madeleine. ‘And ’ere – you see this fragment of writing on the clay? The name of Akhenaten himself. Well, it could be if it was all there. So you see, we could be on the verge of something very exciting indeed.’

  Biff raised a hand to his face. ‘On the verge is no use to me,’ he groaned. ‘On the verge is nowhere. It has to be bigger than that.’

  ‘We have some bigger bits of pottery,’ said Alec. ‘Not quite as old as this stuff, but . . .’

  Biff shook his head. His great idea had just crashed up against a real problem. He thought for a moment.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll go talk to Howard Carter. Yeah . . . I’ll see if he’ll agree to me saying that Alex is really working on his dig. Then we can photograph the kid standing in front of a big sarcophagus. Something that will wow our readers.’

  Alec glared at him. ‘But that would be a lie,’ he protested.

  ‘Yeah, sure, but it would be a better story. Let’s not get hung up on the details, kid. We photograph you standing next to that junk’ – he pointed at the contents of the tray – ‘and we don’t have a story.’

  ‘You’re surely not suggesting that Master Alec should involve himself in a total fabrication?’ said Coates. ‘What about his sense of honour? And where’s your journalistic integrity?’

  ‘Forget about honour and integrity: he’d be featured in the Saturday Evening Post!’ said Biff, as if that was reason enough to do just about anything. ‘He’d be in millions of households throughout the USA!’

  ‘What a nauseating proposition,’ said Coates quietly.

  ‘Hey, listen, buster, there’s plenty of people would give their eye teeth for a place in the Post. Heck, we’ve featured the biggest stars in Hollywood.’

  ‘How thrilling for you,’ said Coates, with just the right amount of contempt.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Alec firmly. ‘I couldn’t do it. Uncle Will’s dream is to find the tomb of Akhenaten and that’s what we’re trying to do. Finding Tut was Howard Carter’s dream and he’s made it happen. I wouldn’t do anything to take any of the glory away from him.’

  Biff sat there, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You guys are killing me,’ he said. ‘You know that?’ He drained the last of his coffee and stood up. ‘To think I gave up breakfast at the Winter Palace to come out to this godforsaken dump and look at a few bits of pottery I could’ve found in my own back garden. Come on, Charlie, let’s get back down the valley to Tut’s tomb.’ He gave Ethan a withering look. ‘A place where they’ve really got something to shout about.’ He glared at Alec. ‘You ever come to your senses, kid, you know where to find me.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind,’ Alec assured him.

  The team watched as Biff and Charlie stalked off to remount their donkeys. The Arab guide managed to turn the beasts round and they started off up the hill. Biff looked back to shout at Ethan, ‘I don’t know why I came all the way over here. Wade, you’re in charge of a bunch of losers. You’ll never find that tomb you keep talking about. Y’hear me? If you find anything of interest, I’ll eat my dad-blasted boots!’

  Alec felt an overpowering urge to jump up and run after the newspaperman; to tell him to take his boots off and start chewing, because they had found something: they had made the mos
t incredible find ever. But Ethan must have sensed what was going on, because he flashed him a warning look followed by a sly wink.

  Once the two journalists were safely out of sight, the team let out a collective sigh of relief and had a good laugh about what had just happened.

  ‘Mickey, the tray was perfect,’ chuckled Ethan. ‘It couldn’t have looked more dismal if you’d tried. Maddie, that was a nice touch about Akhenaten – it just added the final straw. Thanks for that.’

  Alec waited for Madeleine to protest at the shortened form of her name but she just smiled graciously. ‘Thank you for defending me,’ she said, ‘against that horrible man.’

  ‘Oh, that’s OK.’ There was a brief silence while the two of them regarded each other; then Ethan made an effort to recall what he’d been saying.

  ‘And Alec . . . you clearly know the meaning of the word integrity. Some kids would have jumped at the chance to be famous.’

  Alec shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind being famous for something I really had done,’ he said. ‘Like being one of the first people to enter the tomb of Akhenaten?’

  Ethan grinned. ‘Yeah, that would be something, wouldn’t it?’ He glanced around the table. ‘OK, folks, let’s get to work,’ he said. ‘I figure if we go right through we’ll have the antechamber cleared by nightfall. Which means that first thing tomorrow morning we’ll be ready to open the second door. I don’t know about you, but I’m with Alec on this one. I can’t wait to get a good look inside that tomb!’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Waiting

  HE LAY ON the hotel bed in his unfamiliar body, curtains drawn, windows tight shut against the morning sunlight. From the street below came the hubbub of voices, the shouting of tradesman, the honking of motor horns. Every part of his flesh itched to be out there, pursuing his quest, but he knew that this was not possible. For the moment at least, he could only walk by night.

  His name was Sonchis; he was a high priest of Akhenaten and he had waited three thousand years for the opportunity to be reborn. Chance had released him from his sarcophagus hundreds of years ago – a great movement in the earth that had split the copper-lined casket wide open, allowing his ka, or life force, to escape its prolonged captivity. But his joy at being freed from the casket was short-lived because he was still compelled by the magical power of the serpent’s eye, created by three of the pharaoh’s most powerful magicians, rendering him powerless to break through the wall that separated him from the world. Instead he was obliged to wait in darkness as the centuries rolled slowly by.